


Non-Exclusive

by Bouzingo



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bucky's Prosthetic Arm, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Multi, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam POV, Stressed Out Psych Major Sam, barista Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 01:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3190493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouzingo/pseuds/Bouzingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has his concerns about joining whatever it is that Steve and Bucky have. He doesn't want to be an accessory, or a mediator. For once, he wants to be cherished.</p><p>Steve and Bucky are aware that they are wooing a national treasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Non-Exclusive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [givemeunicorns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/givemeunicorns/gifts).



Sam doesn’t even notice the barista when he mumbles out his order, burnt out from a study session and ready for some caramel macchiato goodness.

“Sure thing, hon,” says a warm smiling voice, cutting through the swathe of psychology terms bouncing around in Sam’s head. “It’s just going to take me a little longer, all right?”

Sam blinks hard and focuses on the barista, and feels his face heat up when he realizes that the guy’s kind of hot. Then he totally misses whatever it is the guy says next.

“What’s your name, buddy?” the barista says again, a bit more gently. His little chalkboard nametag says James, and he has pretty golden earrings on.  
“Sam,” Sam manages.

“Okay, Sam, it’ll be on the counter when you’re ready,” James says, and goes about making Sam’s drink, and it’s only then that he notices the prosthetic arm. Sam feels like kind of a dick for ordering such a complicated drink. But James finishes making it with aplomb, and sets it down gently in front of Sam.

“Good luck on midterms, Sam,” James says with a bright smile and a wink. Gosh, he’s really pretty, and wearing eyeliner, Sam is pretty sure. Sam grips his coffee tight and leaves, too tongue-tied and tired to try and interact with the cute barista.

“Are you okay, Wilson?” Steve asks when Sam gets back, coffee a third finished already and ready for the next bout of studying.

Steve’s in art, and hasn’t got midterms per se, but he’s been up for a while working on the twenty or so culminating projects he has to do in exchange. His paintshirt tents over his skinny frame and he’s got a mask on to avoid breathing in stuff and aggravating his asthma. He’s really cute like this, and Sam needs to blink hard.

“There was a really cute barista at the coffee place and it wasn’t fair,” Sam finally manages to get out. Steve raises an eyebrow.

“You’re charming though. Did you hit on them?”

“I couldn’t get out five words. Too pretty. Way too cute. I had no prep,” Sam sighs, and puts his reading glasses back on. “He was really pretty with his eyeliner and lil bun and earrings and stuff.”

“Oh, that’s Bucky!” Steve says with a delighted laugh. “I keep on forgetting you two haven’t actually met!”

“Bucky?” Sam repeats dully. “No way Rogers, his name was James.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve says. “He goes by Bucky.”

“You sure it was _your_ Bucky?”

 _Steve’s_ Bucky, Steve’s childhood friend who has the nice little house by the coast where Steve stays over every other weekend to decompress. Steve’s not-boyfriend but the one he’s been in love with since the dawn of time. Steve’s Bucky.

“How many Bucky-short-for-Jameses do you know, dude?” Steve says. “And it’s not like we’re dating.”

“If you’re not now, it’s going to happen,” Sam says, feeling glum and like he doesn’t want to study anymore. “Aw, figures. The one time I see a guy that I would go in for, and he’s like your soulmate fuckbuddy.”

“We’re not exclusive soulmate fuckbuddies, Sam, come on,” Steve says. “You’re totally Buck’s type. After your midterms, you should text him. He likes sci-fi movies from the silent era, and he’s been dying to go to that Chinese bakery that opened up. But I have my gluten thing, so he’s been holding off ‘til he can go with someone who enjoys it.”

“I’m not going to text him. That’d be weird,” Sam says, and Steve smiles, eyes crinkling while his mouth is hidden behind the mask. Sam loves the way his smile reaches all the way to the top of his head.

“Sam, he wrote his number on your coffee,” Steve says. Sam looks, and feels as though he’s falling when he sees Steve is right.

* * *

 

“Bucky’s coming over for dinner,” Steve says, looking up from his sketchpad. His hands are stained with charcoal but he’s entreated Sam again and again to stay still because he’s not done. “I figure I’d initiate since you haven’t texted him.”

“Okay, seriously man, what’s your deal?” Sam says, sitting up and ignoring Steve’s distressed sound. “I didn’t text him because I know you two are like, engaged from childhood or something.”

“We’re _not_ ,” Steve says. “We’re just really good friends who fuck sometimes.”

“I’m not going to be your college experiment, Steve. I’ve had enough of that,” Sam says. “It’s my last year of college and I deserve better.”

“You’re not an experiment, Sam, I swear. Bucky’s making dinner, and he’s a really good chef, and you’ll like him a lot,” Steve says, setting his sketchbook aside, then stretches. His shoulder, the one that got busted up, pops a couple of times and he groans. “Wear that nice shirt that you have. The one made of boyfriend material.”

“I don’t know what shirt that is,” Sam says. “Are you okay?”

“Cold weather. All my joints are sore,” Steve says. “Nothing to do except take a Motrin and then take a nap. It’s the blue plaid shirt, by the way.”

He goes to his room, and Sam hears him all but collapse on the bed.

The doorbell rings at around five o’clock, and Sam answers it, wearing the shirt that Steve told him to. Bucky is there, with a backpack and a winning smile. He has purple lipstick on and little sparkly studs in his ears to match.

“Hi, stranger,” he says, and maybe Sam’s heart palpitates a little.

“Hi,” he says. “Do you need help with that bag? It looks heavy.”

“Just unpacking it,” Bucky says, and walks in to the apartment, making a beeline for the kitchen. He knows the place so well; Sam wonders how often he’s come over. “So you didn’t text me.”

“No, I guess I just…” Sam’s excuses, very valid reasonings, dry up, and he offers a weak, “sorry.”

“No problem,” Bucky says. “I can be too much sometimes. I just hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable, Sam.”

“No, it was actually, it was pretty sweet,” Sam says, as Steve comes in, looking foggy, but dressed and even wearing shoes.

“Hey you,” he says with a smile. “Where’ve you been?”

“Culinary school isn’t actually easy, Stevie,” Bucky says, looking him up and down. It’s not a salacious look, Sam realizes even as he suspects it, but a prognostic one. “Are your joints troubling you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Steve scoffs. “Why don’t you cook instead?”

“Okay, Rogers,” Bucky says, throws a muffin that Steve catches. “It’s gluten free. You’re welcome. Sam, do you think you could chop the vegetables?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Sam says. He and Bucky bump hips as they reach the counter, and the purple quirk of Bucky’s smile tells Sam everything he needs to know about that.

“So you’re in psychology, how is that?” Bucky says, carefully setting out increments of ingredients in front of him. Sam laughs.

“It’s pretty much exactly what I was promised. A lot of hard work and pain,” he says. “Worth it though. What are we making, exactly?”

“A curry. It takes a while to cook, which is why I came earlyish,” Bucky says. “Quicker when I get decent help in the kitchen, though. Thanks.”

The curry simmers and they go to the living room. Steve curls up in his chair like always, leaving the sofa to Bucky and Sam. There’s a long awkward silence and then Sam throws up his hands.

“Nah,” he says. “I don’t think so. This isn’t going to work.”

“Sam,” Steve says, just as Bucky turns to him, bewildered. “He thinks we’re using him to fulfill some kind of fantasy to enrich our relationship.”

“I’m sorry, Steve, Bucky, you’re both really great guys, but neither of you are explaining how this works out to be fair to me,” Sam says, and points at Steve when he opens his mouth. “You don’t explain things well.”

“Let me try, then,” Bucky says earnestly. “Me and Steve are probably always going to be me and Steve. We love each other; we share in a lot of things. But we’re not together. We’ve tried it before and it nearly ruined what we had.”

“So you two want a mediator, or a marriage counselor or something,” Sam says, crossing his arms. “That’s not me.”

“I know,” Steve says from his chair. “Sam, _I know_. That’s not what we want. I love you. I’m head over heels in love with you and I don’t tend to fall in love. And then Bucky saw you and fell in love too, just when I was working up the courage to ask you out.”

“We always talk to each other before we start dating other people,” Bucky says. “And this was the easiest talk we ever had, Sam. We’d both love to date you, if you’re okay with it.”

“You’re in love with me?” Sam asks Steve, who turns fire hydrant red but nods. “You played that mighty close to the chest.”

“We’re roommates,” Steve mumbles. “I didn’t want to let you know right off the bat and make the rest of the school year uncomfortable.”

“He was shy,” Bucky says, and Steve makes an outraged sound. “Aw come on, Stevie. You got nerves of steel except when you have to tell people how you’re feeling.”

“God!” Steve groans, hiding his face, and Sam laughs.

“This would mean the world to us,” Bucky says to Sam, bright eyes twinkling and Sam’s stomach is doing flipflops. “Any time you want to stop, just say the word. In the next five minutes, in the next few months.”

“Okay,” Sam says, and Bucky leans over and kisses him on the cheek.

“Thank you so much,” he says sweetly, and goes to check on the curry.

Sam’s hand goes to his cheek, and comes away covered in glitter that he’s going to be rubbing off his face for years. Steve looks like he’s been pummeled, is still really red. He’s not reaching for his inhaler yet, but Sam knows the look.

“Talk to me, Steve,” Sam says. “Tell me you’re not having a stroke.’

“You’ll know when I’m having a stroke,” Steve counters. “I think I just… I’m so happy that you’re okay with this, even if just for a little while.”

His lips are twitching into an unguarded smile that Sam’s never really seen before. He relishes it, feels strangely proud of the fact that he put that smile there.

* * *

 

Later, they’re wrapped around each other in bed, Sam’s fingers curling in Bucky’s hair and Steve pressed up against his back. Bucky’s prosthetic arm lies on the chair by the bedroom door. He took it off before they decided to use the bed for sleeping, cocky smile diminishing a little because it’s the first time Sam seen him without it.

“Is it very heavy?” Sam asks. He’s tracing the scars and burns on Bucky’s left shoulder, hitherto covered by the flesh-coloured sleeve he wears under the prosthetic. Bucky nods. “Looks like it hurts.”

“It’s not so bad,” Bucky says, kissing Sam softly. He crosses his flesh arm over Sam’s head so he can hold hands with Steve. Steve’s other arm is draped over Sam and Sam can feel his heartbeat.

Sam _likes_ this, a lot more than he thought he would. He likes being cocooned in between two people who know each other so well and want to know him just the same. He likes how when Bucky cooks for them both and takes them to his house by the coast for weekends, likes how Steve kisses him so sweet.

He loves them, loves them both.

“Your back is huge,” Steve mutters, sleepdrunk and kind of out of it. His medications work fast after he takes them, and these are the conversations that pass between consciousness and dreams. Sam and Bucky laugh, and Sam takes his hand.

“Sleep tight, darling,” he mutters, voice rumbling in his throat. Steve manages to get closer to him, somehow, and sighs deep in contentment. Bucky, after fussing a bit with the pillows and blankets, is down for the count soon after.

 _I love you_ , Sam thinks, and even if he doesn’t say it out loud, he falls asleep with a smile.


End file.
